Unwritten
by capsiclerogers
Summary: ONE-SHOT. Kendall is writing a song, but lacks inspiration. KAMES, SLASH. Rated T just to be safe.


**My second one-shot. :)  
>A super long one too...<br>It's Kames, and I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

><p><em>"You can break me down but the war's not over…<em>"

CRASH.

"GOD DAMN IT!" I screamed, chucking my notebook across the room. This was the seventh song that was complete and utter crap.

I closed my eyes and took long, deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself down. I had to face it. I had terrible writer's block, and I have to deal with it.

Suddenly, my door flung wide open and the knob hit the adjacent wall with a thud.

"Honey, what's wrong?" my mom frantically asked, running up to me on my bed and clutching my face.

"I'm fine, Mom," I angrily snapped, whacking her hands from my face. "I just… I can't write this song."

She frowned. "Sweetie, you're going to nail the audition and get the gig, regardless of what song you perform."

I sighed. If only it were that simple. "Thanks, I needed to hear that. But in all honesty, this gig is a _big deal_. Talent scouts are going to be present and I need to really impress them, you know? Just… the pressure's getting to me."

My mom nodded understandingly. Man, my mom was the coolest person ever.

"I know, I really do baby," she sighed and bent down to pick up my abused notebook full of my songs. "But chucking your songbook isn't exactly a great way to overcome writer's block."

I chuckled. "So what do you suggest I do?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, drive around town? Or maybe go down to that one coffee shop you love. You know, the one with all the musician décor on the wall?"

My face lit up and I scrambled to my feet, index finger in the air as if saying "Aha!"

"Mom! That's a really good idea! Thanks!"

I kissed her on the cheek and she smiled.

"Glad to help, Kendall," she responded, getting up and leaving the room. I changed out of my pajamas and into some dark-washed skinny jeans and a plaid shirt. I grabbed the thickest jacket I could find and bundled myself in a red scarf, my famed grey beanie, and some black gloves. I snatched my notebook and guitar from my bed and ran downstairs.

"Where are you going?" Katie asked, sitting at the counter drinking a cup of hot cocoa.

"Coffee shop," I answered while grabbing my car keys.

I sprinted outside into the bitter cold that is Minnesotan winter. I slid into the soon-to-be-warm leather seat of my car and started the engine. I turned up the heater and the volume of my radio, and backed out of my driveway.

After belting out some Aerosmith and Pink Floyd that was playing on the radio, I reached downtown and parked curbside, right in front of my destination: The Lucas Café, named after the shop owner Winston Lucas.

I pushed open the frosted glass door, bells that were tied to it jingling, and smiled when I was surrounded by warmth.

"Hey Kendall!"

I scanned around the room until I saw a familiar face approaching me.

"Hey, Win! What's up?" I greeted, pulling him in for a short hug.

I took a seat at a small table for two and Winston returned behind the counter.

"The usual?" Winston inquired, pouring fresh brewed coffee in a big, white mug.

"You know it," I grinned. "Oh, and add a shot of espresso, por favor."

"Alright," he replied.

I pulled out my notebook and flipped it open to a brand new page. I whipped out a pen and my guitar, Asher, and began strumming and writing down some chords.

"Here you go, my good man."

I stopped playing Asher and looked up as Winston placed my coffee in front of me. He plopped down onto the chair across from me and pointed at my notebook.

"Writing a song?"

I nodded and took a sip from the mug.

"Yeah, I have an audition tomorrow. If I do well, I'll land a spot in the annual Sundance Music Festival this year. And that festival always has talent scouts floating about. And that's kind of why I'm here. I have writer's block."

He furrowed his ginger eyebrows.

"Don't you have like a billion songs in that notebook?" he asked.

"Yeah, but none of them are good enough," I sighed, throwing down my pen and setting down Asher beside me.

Winton chuckled.

"Kendall, relax. Just use one of your already-written songs; they're _more_ than good enough," he assured.

I snorted at his comment and crossed my arms across my chest.

"No way. I need a flawless song. I can't settle for less," I insisted.

The redhead sighed and got back onto his feet.

"Suit yourself, Mr. Perfectionist. All I'm saying is you're getting too worked up over this. I happen to think all the songs you have written are great."

He winked and left me alone with my empty page and the steaming cup of coffee. I grumped and took another swig from the mug, not caring if the hot liquid burned my throat. That was the least of my worries at the moment.

_Come on, Kendall, think! I can do this…_

I leaned back into my chair and closed my eyes, letting the coffee shop music swim around my head. Maybe the calming jazz will spark an idea or something… That's what my best friend always said to do when I'm conflicted, to just close your eyes and wait. So far, it didn't do any good.

"Hey, can I see this?"

I opened my eyes to see perhaps the most gorgeous person I've ever had the opportunity to lay eyes on. And yes, he was a guy.

Then I realized what this mystery hottie had taken. My notebook!

"Hey! Give that back!" I demanded, trying to snatch it from the brunette.

Too bad he was a few inches taller.

"Aw, come on! I just wanted to see it!" he teased and opened it. "Ooh, lyrics?"

I shrieked like a girl. How dare he just open it up and read my emotions? And in my opinion, they weren't that great either. I charged at him, but he was a lot quicker than I had expected.

"Nuh-uh, strangers don't do that to each other," the taller sang, batting his long eyelashes.

_That damn kid is smirking,_ I thought, rolling my eyes. _He seems to be enjoying this a lot more than me._

"Well," I spat, "Strangers don't take notebooks from people either. That didn't stop you now, did it?"

"Tsk tsk," the brunette sighed. "Feisty."

He started to turn the pages, absorbed by the contents of _my_ notebook. Full of _my_ song lyrics. That he rightfully took from _me._ I hate this guy.

"Please give it back," I sighed, feeling defeated. "I need to write a song by tonight, and learn it by tomorrow."

No answer.

"Pretty please with a cherry on top?" I tried, forcing a smile.

Finally, the stranger slammed it shut and handed it back to me. He flashed me his pearly whites and just… turned and walked away. HUH?

"Whoa, wait!" I heard myself call after him. "That's it? You read it and then you just leave?"

He halted and turned back to face me.

He nodded slowly and shrugged. "Yeah, pretty much."

I clenched my fists, which made him quirk an eyebrow.

"Wow, that's totally normal. You know, I do the same thing too. All the time, really. I just waltz in a freaking coffee shop and take some dude's notebook, then reads it and hands it back without another word," I sarcastically retorted, rolling my eyes.

The boy narrowed his light hazel eyes. "Are you being sarcastic with me?"

I shot him a smug smile.

"Damn right I am. Come at me, bro. I can take a pretty boy any day."

He let out an amused chuckle.

"Actually, Caterpillar Eyebrows, I don't fight. I actually need to keep my face pretty and whatnot; it's for my job.

"Really? And what's your job, a prostitute?" I shot.

He shook his head and laughed.

"Sorry, Blondie, hate to disappoint you, but no. You're going to have to ask someone else to be your slut for the night," he countered.

My eyes widened and my jaw dropped. This guy was like the king of all snarky remarks! I could feel a blush creep onto my face. The jerkoff seemed to notice and appeared rather content.

"I'm a singer slash actor, actually," he proceeded to explain, walking closer to me. "And what exactly are you, Fuzzy?"

_God, how many nicknames do I have?_

"A musician," I stated.

He cocked his head and raised a brow.

"Hm… your songs might need a little bit of work, but I can see that," he finally said.

I coughed and rubbed my ears.

"I'm sorry, did you just insult my songs?"

"By no means did I insult it, but I'm just saying they could be improved," he simply said. "I'm James Diamond."

He extended his hand out and I took it, shaking it slowly.

"I'm Kendall Knight. And please don't call me Fuzzy, Blonde, _or_ Caterpillar Eyebrows."

He smirked.

"Sorry, Kendork," he answered.

I groaned, which made him laugh again. He walked over to the table I was originally sitting at and took the chair across from mine. He motioned for me to sit back down, so I did. I'm not sure why, but I did.

"So the thing with your lyrics are they're too cliché. It's been done before," he lectured, flipping open my notebook. "See? It's not poetic enough."

I sighed.

"Sorry I'm not a musical genius, James. But everything's been done before. Music's been around since like, prehistoric times."

"True," he agreed, "but that doesn't mean you can't do it the Kendall way. Make it yours and don't try to make it like everybody else's."

"I don't get it," I admitted.

"When I read these, I just think 'Oh, Kendall was influenced by blank,' not 'Kendall was inspired by the moment in life when blank happened to him, and now he's explaining the pain he felt through his own words,'" he explained, pointing to many lines in my verses and choruses.

I nodded slowly. I kind of understood what he meant by that. This guy was better than I thought.

"So I need to make it more… me?" I queried, looking up at him.

"Bingo."

He beamed at me and I felt something flutter in my stomach. I knew what this feeling was… I've felt it before. I just didn't want to believe it. Ignoring it, I returned to the task at hand.

"How do you suppose I do this?" I asked again.

"I know a lot of people tell you to listen to other songs for inspiration, but please don't. That actually makes it harder. If you want a sound that's totally you and lyrics that are original and that's totally you, you have to get your inspiration through your emotions. It's the best way. The way I write songs is to just write down all you feel and then _later_ construct lyrics and rhymes and stuff from it. It works," he suggested.

I smiled for the first time at James.

"Dude, you're a genius!" I exclaimed, standing up to hug the brunette.

He laughed and returned the hug.

"Don't worry about it."

I pulled away and bit my lip, trying to keep myself from turning pink again. Nope, didn't work at all.

"Are you blushing?" he giggled.

I stuttered something incoherent.

"Huh?" he asked.

"Nothing," I quickly answered. "Um, so thanks for the advice. I should probably get writing."

I took my seat and picked up Asher, strumming the chords lightly.

"Sure. If you don't mind me asking, why are you in a time crunch?"

"Big audition for the Sundance Music Festival this year. I need to play this year! So many talent scouts go there to find new talent, and I want to get signed," I sighed, stress finding its way back into me as I remembered.

He groaned.

"Seriously? That's what you're getting so worried about?" he sneered. "Dude, just use your old songs."

"But I thought you said they weren't good!"

"I said they weren't _great_, but they are good," he corrected. "But honestly, you can't expect to write a masterpiece in one day, especially if you can't find the inspiration. Whatever happens, happens."

I leaned back into my chair and let out a sigh.

"Okay, so I should just audition with an old song?"

James nodded and got onto his feet.

"Yup. Work on your song _gradually_. It'll take some time, granted, but you'll get better," he encouraged, grinning.

"Thanks," I said, giving him one last hug.

He whirled around and started to walk out the door.

"Wait," he suddenly said, sauntering back over to me.

"Hmm?" I asked, looking up from my notebook and putting down my pen.

"Do you want to trade numbers? I want to know how you do at the audition," he said.

I swore to God it was him that was blushing this time.

"Yeah, sure."

We traded phones and entered our numbers. After, we handed them back to each other and he left without another word. I picked up the coffee and sipped it, letting out a content sigh as I set it down with a gentle clink.

"MOM! I GOT IT!" I screamed, jumping up and down as soon as I entered the house.

"You what?" a distant voice exclaimed.

Then I heard footsteps coming towards me. I witnessed my mom and my little sister, Katie, running up to me and throwing their arms around me.

"I'm so proud of you!" my mom gushed, crying tears of joy.

"Big Brother, you deserved it!" Katie enthused, smiling like crazy.

I laughed.

"Thanks guys, I really appreciate your support," I thanked and ran up the stairs.

I browsed through my phone contacts and hit 'call.'

"Logan, it's me Kendall."

"Hey, Kendall, what's up? How was the big audition?"

"Well… It sucks to say that I didn't do great, " I sighed, feigning sadness.

"Aw Kendall, you're extremely talented, and it was their loss," Logan comforted.

"Yeah, that's because I DID AWESOME! I GET TO PERFORM!"

"Kendall Knight! You scared me half to death!" he angrily shouted in the phone.

I chuckled.

"Sorry, Logie. I have to go now. I gotta call someone."

"Alright, congratulations Knight," he said.

"Thanks."

I hung up and immediately called James.

"Yello," the voice said.

I felt my face turn hot and cleared my throat.

"Hey James, it's Kendall," I said.

"Oh, hey Fuzzball."

I grumbled.

"James!"

He laughed.

"Okay, I'm sorry. How was the audition?"

"Great," I beamed. "I made it!"

"Pft, of course you did. Your songs are pretty good."

I blushed even more.

"Thanks, James. Do you want to meet up at the Lucas Café again?"

"Sure. I'll see you in a few?"

"You bet," I confirmed and hung up.

I happily skipped downstairs and reached for my jacket and car keys.

"Mom, I'm leaving!" I shouted.

"Where you going?" she yelled back from across the house.

"Coffee shop to meet a friend!"

"Okay!"

I drove down to the café as fast as I could and parked in the same spot as yesterday. I fixed my hair in the rearview mirror and double checked for boogers in my nose. _Clear_. I got out of my car and confidently walked into the café. I scanned the room for James, but I didn't see him. I pouted and scanned the room again, making sure I didn't skip over him. Suddenly, two glove-cladded hands covered my eyes and I yelped. Then I heard that familiar smug chuckle.

"Ugh, James! You scared me!" I whined, peeling his hands from my face.

"Relax, Kendy. You scare yourself," he snorted and led me to a table.

Classic James.

"So, did you wow the judges?" the taller asked eagerly, elbows propped up on the table.

I nodded.

"I think so. They seemed extremely excited to give me the news. Almost immediately after my song ended, they blurted a 'yes!'" I explained, reliving the moment in my head.

He gave me a thumbs-up and flashed a cheeky smile.

"I'm so glad for you, Kendall. You seem like a hard worker," James said.

"Aw, thanks."

Crap I was blushing again…!

"Sorry, I blush a lot…" I lamely said.

I wanted to slap myself for saying that, but before I could, I felt a pair of soft, supple lips on mine. I widened my eyes and I froze, not knowing what to do, but after the initial shock wore off I found myself closing my eyes and kissing back. When we pulled back, he was smiling like an idiot and I looked like a deer in headlights.

"W-what was that for?" I stuttered, grazing my lips with my fingertips.

"My gaydar was going off the charts yesterday. And you were dropping signals, so I took the chance and kissed you," he stated very matter-of-factly.

I laughed nervously.

"That obvious, huh?" I mumbled.

He laughed too.

"Don't be sorry about it. I like you too," he said.

I couldn't help but smile.

"Hey, want to go back to my place and finish some business?"

He winked seductively and I squeaked.

"Um… James, I'm not—"

He busted out laughing, clutching his sides.

"Oh my Lord, you are too funny, Kendall. I meant song-writing, duh," he scoffed.

My face was probably scarlet now. Actually, it definitely was. I laughed meekly and nodded, taking his hand and followed him out the door and into the snow.

But now I know I can finish the song that I couldn't yesterday. Why? Now I had inspiration.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm sorry about the really crappy ending, but I suck at them.<br>I despise writing them.  
>Hope you liked it~.<br>Review? **


End file.
